


All the King's Men

by MarnaNightingale



Series: All the King's Men [3]
Category: Horatio Hornblower (Movie)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-05
Updated: 2004-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-02 07:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarnaNightingale/pseuds/MarnaNightingale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set right after The Frogs And The Lobsters. About three minutes after, actually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the King's Men

**Author's Note:**

> Respectfully dedicated to Lois McMaster Bujold, Dorothy L. Sayers, and Tom Cochrane, for knowing about love.  
> Affectionately dedicated to: Skud and FairestCat, Without whom. Words fail me, which is as well or the acknowledgements would outstrip the fic, to Diane for patience, Kiri for "immoral support", and my wife, who knows why.
> 
> Betas: Nindulgence and Cortese

ACT ONE:

 

When the last shadow of France was gone from the horizon, Archie shinnied down towards the deck ahead of Horatio, smiling as voices rose to meet him; the men, so subdued as they'd watched France vanish aft, were singing.

Major Edrington was waiting as Archie and Horatio reached the deck. He smiled at their flushed faces, glancing back up to the fighting top and shaking his head in tolerant bemusement.

"Had a proper airing, gentlemen?"

"Indeed, My Lord," said Horatio, eyes shining, and the Major and Kennedy exchanged a quick, relieved glance as Hornblower made his excuses and went to consult with Matthews. As they watched him stride away, Archie said, smiling, "I could show you. Would you like to go up, My Lord? It is no more difficult than mounting a spirited horse, really."

Major Edrington's expression remained bland, though the quirk of an eyebrow acknowledged the hit. "I think -- not today, thank you, Mr Kennedy. A turn about the deck, rather, if you would, and you may explain to me some of the finer points of this floating gymnasium."

The two men fell into a comfortable rhythm, strolling and chatting, until they regained the leeward side of the quarterdeck and paused to watch the activity below. Major Edrington leaned casually on the rail, and said quietly, as Kennedy joined him there, "I underrated you, Mr Kennedy. At the bridge."

Archie blushed, but replied steadily enough, "You rated me quite justly, My Lord. I panicked, I made a bloody fool of myself; Lieutenant Hornblower had to bring me to my senses."

Edrington nodded. "And yet -- most men panic by running _away_ from danger, Mr Kennedy. You are no coward. I confess I was puzzled enough to ask a few discreet questions."

Archie was unable to suppress a flash of angry dismay; he turned away abruptly and stared out over the water.

The Major must have seen, for he continued almost apologetically, "and received some extremely discreet answers, I assure you. Enough only to tell me that your brief trouble was a result of having an unusual amount of strain to bear, not a matter of any lesser strength or lack of nerve. I assure you, I can be discreet as well; I do not mean to tax you with reminders of what you've survived and put behind you. I only wanted to be certain you knew my opinion had altered."

"Thank you, Sir."

Edrington broke the slightly awkward silence by chuckling at the bawdy strains of _Drunken Sailor_ and commenting wryly after a few verses, "I hope there is some less rigid procedure for managing drunken Majors, Mr Kennedy."

"My Lord?"

"Your wardroom has been good enough to invite me to supper this evening. And I for one plan to drink rather too much. Not alone, for preference."

Kennedy had opened his mouth to reply when he was forestalled by the sound of Oldroyd's voice raised above the others,

"Put a lobster down 'is britches  
Put a lobster down 'is britches ..."

_I've never heard that one before_, Archie thought, grinning, and then, _Oh, God, Oldroyd_ ...

He turned, an apology on his lips, to find the Major regarding him with an oddly intent look. As Archie met his eyes, Edrington glanced down and away, smiling slightly. _Well now, My Lord,_ Archie thought, before they were distracted by a commotion and turned in time to see Oldroyd indignant and dripping wet, Styles and one of Edrington's men both putting aside freshly emptied buckets and roaring with laughter.

When he spoke again, Edrington's tone was almost wistful.

"You look after what is yours -- your men, your -- shipmates. At all costs. They are fortunate in you, I think."

"I keep safe what I may, My Lord," Archie answered. "But I count nothing as mine, unless it is between my hands. The whims of the service, the fortunes of war --" he shrugged.

"_Carpe diem_, then?" Edrington murmured.

Archie turned and met his eyes squarely. "By the throat, My Lord. "

"Indeed, Mr Kennedy."

* * *

Edrington lay sleepless in his cot, considering. Dinner had been ... most interesting, forced gaiety giving way to almost hysterical good cheer with the aid of a generous quantity of wine, including several bottles he had provided himself. More interesting yet had been constantly catching Kennedy's eyes on him, his expression as demure as a girl barely out of the schoolroom, but -- there had been an invitation there, he thought. Or -- a challenge?

Less ambiguous had been Lieutenant Hornblower's response to his attempts to draw Kennedy into conversation. At the beginning of supper, Hornblower seemed to have relapsed into brooding, pushing his meat around on his plate and addressing himself to his glass with silent, methodical absorption, offering responses courteous enough, but brief. As Kennedy had ceased to hover over him and begun to respond to Edrington's sallies, Hornblower had exerted himself to draw Kennedy's attention back -- oh, subtly enough, a comment here, a shared jest there, all with perfect courtesy, treating Edrington very much as the honoured ... _stranger_. Kennedy had accepted it with equanimity, sharing out his attention between the two men easily, drawing them into discussion with one another until Hornblower, aided no doubt by the wine, had begun to carry his share of the conversation.

_And look daggers at me when he thought I was not attending. Interesting. Very interesting. Were it not for that business with the girl in Muzillac, I would think ... Kennedy almost worships him, that much is clear. But little else is._

Edrington sighed. He'd too much sense to try to come between the two, if Kennedy's obvious devotion should be reciprocated. But if it were, Hornblower was playing a far cooler hand than he'd have thought the man capable of. And if it were not ... _then I fail to see any impediment there, really._.

He stirred restlessly, hoping his distraction at supper had been attributed to heat and wine, and that the speculation in his own eyes had gone unnoticed -- at least, unnoticed save by the target. As supper had dragged on he'd found himself glancing more often in Kennedy's direction, hard put to maintain his own calm, distracted by wondering how his eyes might look were he to answer their challenge, wanting to see them all invitation. More distracting yet -- damn the man, was he truly so unconscious of what he did, or was he as shameless as he appeared? -- was the way his tongue darted out to catch an errant drop of wine. To catch the tiny smear of sauce that clung to his lip. To catch -- him?

Kennedy had seen him respond, noticed the widening of his eyes, the parted lips; had smiled a little too sweetly, stared back a little too wide-eyed for true innocence, and answered Edrington's comment about some play or other they both chanced to have seen, years ago, without missing a beat.

This was not helping him sleep. Nor was the heaviness in his groin when he considered the promise inherent in Kennedy's air of casual sensuousness. He let his hand drift down his body, shifting his shirt out of the way, stroking himself idly as he gazed unseeing at the beams above his head. He remembered how near he'd come to dropping his fork when the pudding had gone around and Kennedy had pounced on it, blushing and laughing as his shipmates teased him about his sweet tooth and eating his portion with exaggerated glee, throwing back his head, closing his eyes in ecstasy, licking his fork clean and then licking it clean again, grinning at the younger midshipmen as if it were only them he was clowning for.

Not innocent, and Edrington found himself heartily glad of it; he took no pleasure in leaving carnage behind him even in war, and in his own life -- it was dangerous, and left a bitter flavour behind.

Neither innocent, nor weak. Piquant though that air of eager youth was -- how had it survived a Spanish prison? -- there was an edge beneath it. _I keep safe what I may. By the throat, My Lord._

Edrington squirmed against the cool sheets, remembering Kennedy's expression of unbridled bliss. Considered ways to make him look like that again, suddenly, vividly pictured him biting his lip and opening his eyes wide and -- he bit his own lip, suddenly, barely containing a moan as he remembered the thinness of canvas walls.

He thought of that flickering tongue again, and brought his hand to his mouth, wetting it thoroughly before returning to stroke over the head of his prick, taking his time about it, wondering if anyone had yet introduced Kennedy to that particular pleasure. Wondering how Kennedy might respond to a warm mouth closing over him, if he would thrash and moan or melt into the bed, quivering and whimpering. Or perhaps draw back in shock and need to be coaxed -- it seemed unlikely, but one never knew. One should never skimp these things, after all -- there was a great deal of territory to explore and map between kisses and -- other, tastier morsels, and careful reconnaissance was no hardship over such attractive terrain. Advance in good order, that was the trick -- never rush -- make sure of every inch before attempting the ultimate objective.

More likely, though, Kennedy would be an eager student, playful and wholehearted. Willing to explore in turn...

He stroked himself more rapidly, thinking of Kennedy's mouth on him, awkward and sweet, blue eyes looking up at him with eyes full of mischief -- and spent, suddenly and hard.

Drifting pleasurably, he tidied himself with his nightshirt, arranged it as best he could so that the sticky wetness was away from his skin, and let himself be pulled under, smiling.

* * *

The breeze felt wonderful. Muzillac had been hot. Hot and dry and dusty, and everything -- everyone -- smelling of iron and acrid sweat. After the Ferrol, he'd scrubbed himself every chance he got, for weeks, every time he'd remembered that reek. He'd drunk too much, last night, washing the taste away, trying to ward off dreams. But not vastly too much; certainly not as much as he could have drunk. Dreams had still come, and once he'd woken with a start, half-expecting to find himself still on that damned bridge with time running away from him and his feet turned to lead weights, but the sound of Horatio's snoring through the thin partition had made the soft darkness friendly again.

Horatio ... they were even, now. Not that Horatio had ever taxed him with it, or treated him like a debtor, but -- a life for a life and all debts paid, the taint of the Ferrol washed away not in seawater, but in gunpowder, that was better. It had been good -- even with his heart still pounding and his ears ringing -- even when it seemed they'd nothing to look forward to but a desperate stand on a godforsaken strip of sand -- to see gratitude, rather than solicitude, in Horatio's eyes. To hear the respect and confidence in Major Edrington's voice. To be the one who blushed and averted his gaze at the warmth lurking beneath Captain Pellew's brisk nod when they had returned to the _Indefatigable_.

Edrington. _That_ was... interesting. He'd lain awake awhile, after the dream, thinking about dinner. Thinking about Edrington. Thinking about _interesting_. He was thinking about _interesting_ now, despite the trigonometry open on his lap, thinking about challenging brown eyes plus cool smirk, divided by studiously bland expression over... hmmm. Over long legs, lean hips, and a surprising sweep of muscle over back and shoulder. It all added up to _interesting_, yes; what else might it add up to?

Back to studying. But the sun was warm, and his mind drifted; somehow, no matter where he started on the page, Edrington seemed to drift lazily into all of his attempts to calculate positions. Rather intriguing positions, really... he closed his eyes to calculate them better.

A shadow fell across his face, startling him awake, and Archie looked up.

Major Edrington was smiling down at him.

"Good morning, My Lord."

"Good morning, Mr Kennedy. I believe you made me an offer yesterday." Edrington was ... undoing the fastenings of his coat.

Archie could only stare, open-mouthed. _I am still asleep._

"My Lord?"

Edrington cocked an eyebrow. "To take me, ah, aloft, is it, Mr Kennedy?"

Archie blinked, then smiled, slowly. "I shall be delighted to -- take you, My Lord."

"Excellent." Edrington stripped off the coat and handed it carelessly to a passing ship's boy as they made their way towards the shrouds.

Archie thought he looked a trifle dubious, all the same. "Truly, My Lord, it's simple enough."

"Mr Kennedy, I assure you I am happy to place myself entirely in your hands."

Kennedy swung himself up, Edrington following more slowly. "It does seem quite straightforward, very like a ladder," he said, looking up at the top.

"It is. Put your hands on the shrouds -- sorry, the vertical lines -- and climb. Once we get to the top you can go through the lubbers hole, if you like, or else attempt the futtock shrouds."

Major Edrington gave vent to a sort of strangled cough. "The more naval terminology I encounter, the more persuaded I become that tedium, no women, and a great quantity of rum aboard is a dangerous combination for the agile-minded. Remind me to have you explain, ah, spankers to me, will you?"

Archie laughed, and began to climb.

When they had gained the top -- Edrington had watched Kennedy and then insisted on using the futtock shrouds himself, giving Archie an uneasy moment as he pictured explaining to Captain Pellew how he had come to crack open their guest like a gull's afternoon tea -- and were tired of trying to spot England, Edrington said quietly, "I confess I should like to linger here a while longer; the worst of seagoing life seems to me to be the way you all live atop one another."

"When I was in the midshipman's berth, I spent a great deal of time up here, My Lord. The closest thing to a true refuge, on board ship -- and the only privacy anyone with a particle of sense would trust." He skated a glance at Edrington, only to catch him doing the like, and smiled, slowly.

"Ah."

They chatted aimlessly, Edrington jumping from topic to topic until at last he said, with careful casualness, "I gather from Captain Pellew that the _Indefatigable_ will have at least a week in Portsmouth upon our return, Mr Kennedy. Have you any particular plans for your leave?"

"I confess, I had not thought of it, My Lord. I usually -- " _dangle about after Horatio._ "No, My Lord. No plans. I shall be quite free."

Major Edrington seemed to consider, then, with a quick sidelong glance offered, "I shall be staying in Portsmouth for some time, I imagine."

"Well. Perhaps we shall run into one another, My Lord."

Edrington turned and met his eyes squarely. "I should prefer not to leave it to chance, Mr Kennedy. If you have no more pressing plans -- I believe I should like to know you better."

Archie smiled. "I believe I should like that very well, My Lord."

* * *

Edrington found himself humming as he stood by the rail, watching the coast of England grow near, overseeing his men's preparations for landing with half an eye -- which was probably more than they needed. Thank God for truly competent underlings, even if sometimes he felt a bit like the regimental standard: elevated, out in front, symbolically vital, and largely decorative. He'd _been_ largely decorative, the first few months after he received his commission. He was still grateful to his first Sergeant, who had a way of 'clarifying' his orders in such a way as to save his face while both catching his errors and giving him a rapid education in actual military tactics. He'd drunk himself stupid to celebrate, the first time he had made it through an entire battle hearing only "Yes, My Lord!" instead.

Today, however, he was perfectly content to leave them to it, although perhaps _Aupres De Ma Blonde_ was neither the best counterpoint to the Sergeant's approach of keeping quiet order through occasional appeals to "the Major's dreadful sore head today" nor the most prudent choice of tune.

Ah, here was Lieutenant Hornblower, bearing down on him with a face like a costive parson. "Captain Pellew's compliments, my Lord, and he believes we shall be in port by sundown. He asks also that you not hesitate to make use of me for any assistance you might require."

Edrington almost sent him on his way, then reconsidered. It would be prudent, if only for Kennedy's sake, to do what he could to defuse this tension between the three of them. Anyway, he was fond of the young Lieutenant.

"In truth, Lieutenant, I would be grateful if you could keep me company here for a short while. I am presently engaged in staying well out of my Sergeant's way, and I confess I am finding the temptation to relieve the monotony by giving a few pointless orders rather difficult to resist."

Ah, that had startled a grin from him. "I am familiar with the urge, My Lord. Have you tried reviewing trigonometry problems?

"Oddly, Lieutenant, that particular solution had not occurred to me. I was, however, considering what to do with my upcoming liberty." Hornblower's face had darkened again. Time to get to the meat of it. "What are your plans, Lieutenant, if I might enquire?"

"You are very good to take an interest, My Lord," Lieutenant Hornblower replied woodenly. "I confess, I had not thought. I had assumed that I would be keeping company with Mr Kennedy, but that seems not to be his preference."

"I see. He assured me that he had no commitments ashore. Had you perhaps neglected to let him know that you desired his company, Lieutenant?"

He had not thought that the Lieutenant could possibly stiffen further, nor become more elaborately formal. Clearly, he had underestimated the man. "My Lord. I simply assumed -- he has always -- "

"It would appear that in the absence of a clear invitation, Mr Kennedy chose not to presume further upon your kindness, Lieutenant."

"Mr Kennedy ought to know by now, I would think, that he could never presume. He is -- my friend, My Lord."

Edrington found himself torn between amusement and pity at the expression on Hornblower's face. Apparently, he had underestimated the man in more ways than one. He clearly cared a great deal about losing Kennedy's companionship ashore -- or did he think he might be about to lose a great deal more? Edrington suppressed a sigh. He would be returning Kennedy to his ship in a few days' time, a week at most, and might well never see him again; for the sake of that brief flash of proud desolation he had seen on Kennedy's face aloft, he would do what he could here. He lowered his voice, and spoke more gently.

"That much is clear to me now, Lieutenant. But -- forgive me if I take a liberty -- were I in your place I should take some pains to make it clear to _him_. Inescapably clear."

Hornblower looked as stunned as if Edrington had suggested he go find Kennedy and kiss him in the wardroom. _And what are you suggesting, Alexander? Well, not the wardroom..._ "Thank you, My Lord. And -- and thank you."

They chatted inconsequentially, then, amiably debating navigation and tactics, Edrington taking pleasure in eliciting a few more half-smiles from the sober young Lieutenant, until Hornblower said, "I must go, My Lord; we shall be in port soon, and I have duties."

* * *

Archie responded mechanically to His Lordship's -- _Edrington's_, he corrected himself irritably, remarks, his mind spinning. It had seemed a plain enough arrangement back on the _Indy_ \-- one soldier. One sailor. One shore leave. One flat surface, please, and never mind much else so long as the sheets were decently clean.

He'd burst through the door of the inn, having chafed and fretted his way through a long, hot afternoon of delays and small crises, made no easier by finding Horatio, who had been unusually silent all afternoon, regarding him at every turn as if he beheld a stranger, only to find Maj--_Edrington_ \-- chatting coolly with a Colonel, barely stopping to greet him before dispatching him to their rooms for a bath. Archie had gone willingly enough, expecting Edrington to follow, and nothing loath to get well and truly clean, but he'd seen nothing of the man until he'd finally abandoned the cooling water and dressed -- even then Edrington had appeared only to hustle him down for supper. Now Kennedy found himself whisked off to see a play -- a wonderful thing in itself, but never in all that had there been the least hint of the sly, flirtatious man he'd thought he'd agreed to spend several days with. Edrington had been -- solicitous, rather than flirtatious. And every inch the gracious My Lord. He was a fine host, there was no denying it. And yet -- perhaps it was the way Alexander had watched over him as he ate, or the way he'd so smoothly procured a dessert that would have handily fed three -- and taken scarcely a mouthful himself. _I feel like a nephew being taken for a special treat. Or an especially coy mistress he wants to dazzle. If he has thought better of this, he need only say so._

Kennedy covertly searched the other man's face as they walked, looking for ... for anything, really, except polite and pleasant interest. He found himself going over their conversation on board, searching for clues. Had he imagined it all? _Some sailors see mermaids, I understand..._

No, Edrington had seemed interested enough then. Nor had he treated him as a child; entirely the reverse. Where had it all gone astray?

_Had_ he changed his mind? Archie sighed, inwardly. Only one way to find out. He moved closer, deliberately, until his arm brushed against Alexander's sleeve with each step. When Edrington started slightly, but did not move away, he dared to punctuate a point he had been developing for some time--about the ways in which Garrick's alterations to the text might well have changed the whole meaning of Gertrude's hasty remarriage-- with a casual hand on the small of his back as he leaned forward and gestured emphatically.

Edrington jumped, but did not pull away; if anything, he leaned into the touch, spine flexing under Archie's hand. Good. He risked a longer look at his face. Unrevealing, as always, but his eyes... burned. Better. Until he flicked them aside, flushing slightly, biting his lip. Why was the man suddenly so damned diffident? Unless ... unless he thought Archie -- _Oh, God. I suppose it is very gentlemanly of him. Damn it. What is it going to take to make him see that I know my own mind?_.

_"I underrated you, Mr Kennedy"_. Well. People did. It was a habit that needed breaking, and in this case, as soon as possible. As they reached the corner, he swung left.

* * *

As they walked, Edrington looked sidelong at Kennedy, whose sunny mood over supper seemed to have fallen away from him with the light of the inn lamps. When he'd sprung his surprise over their meal, Archie's face had lit like a beacon, just as he had hoped; what, then, had so dampened his mood now? Was he, after all, regretting his decision to exchange the warmth of his shipmate's company for a venture into the unknown? Or was he simply ... no longer inclined, now that he was in Portsmouth with money in his pocket and no shortage of other company, including feminine company, to seek, and casting about for a way to let him know? If so, he resolved, Kennedy should have no reason to feel remorseful on his account. Nothing had been said that could not be explained away, and nothing would be. He cleared his throat, and began to discuss Sheridan with determined enthusiasm. But did Kennedy have to keep _touching_ him? _I am not a bloody saint._

Alexander looked up from his thoughts, puzzled. What were they doing at the rear of the theatre? Kennedy was grinning up at him, and he smiled back, tentatively.

"Do you always go to the stage door first?"

"Often enough to make it habit." Kennedy replied. "This is where one comes to gawp hopelessly after the chorus, you see."

"Hopelessly?"

Kennedy shot him a wicked look. "Not always. Follow me. I want to show you a thing. And tell you a thing, as well."

Edrington nodded, bemused, and followed him into a nearby alley. They walked along it, and fetched up at a spot near the end. "What did you want to show me?"

"That brick." The spot seemed no different from any other, but Kennedy's grin had taken on the most intriguing hint of a leer.

"What of it?"

"I wanted to show you the place where I had my first kiss. First to matter, at any rate."

He considered it for a moment, a coltish young man and a giggling young actress, sneaking in here for a romp. It ought to have made him smile indulgently. It was making him rock-hard, and he saw Kennedy register the fact and smile knowingly, the tip of his tongue stealing out to dampen his lower lip as he leaned in to trace the wall with a finger.

Edrington stood straight, fought for control, making one last attempt to conceal -- at least to restrain -- his desire and his leaping hope at the look of gleeful mischief that sparkled in Archie's eyes, tempting him to lean in closer, tempting him to a hundred things. He took a breath, and said "And what was the thing you desired to tell me?"

Improbably, the smile widened, became positively lascivious. "That I mean to have my next one here as well."

As quick as that, Edrington was pinned against that same brick, or its twin. He gasped at the shock of it, at the feel of it, at the solidity and strength in the body that trapped him there, and Archie's tongue slipped into his mouth, silky and demanding at once, exploring ... he gave over and opened his mouth to him, head spinning, fingers scrabbling at rough brick, sliding down until their groins met and he almost thought he might explode like a boy if Kennedy carried on sucking at his tongue and nibbling his lips and drinking him as if he were cool water in the desert. He moved against him, wanting more, careless of their precarious privacy, and Kennedy pulled back, grasped his shoulders and smiled shakily.

"I ..." he licked his lips, and Edrington thought longingly of dragging him deeper into the concealing dusk to begin it all anew -- "Oh my. I didn't intend to let that get, ah, _quite_ so out of hand. But do you think you can stop worrying now?"

"Ah --?" said Edrington, cleverly.

"Alexander." He grinned -- _that_ had gotten his attention. "I am not a boy. I am not an innocent. And I know what I want. Now --" he pulled, gently, until Edrington was standing, no longer sprawled loosely against the wall, and dusted him off, briskly. "Come on, or we shall miss the curtain." End of Act One; ices and lemonade available in the lobby.

* * *

ACT TWO

* * *

Edrington shifted in his seat, straining to concentrate on the words rolling through the theatre.

_But release me from my bands  
With the help of your good hands_

Hands. _Release._ Oh, God, release.

It had never previously occurred to him to consider Shakespeare as brimming with erotic meaning. On the other hand, he had never before found himself attending the theatre with a companion who seemed willing to take every possible advantage of him that the relative darkness and the comparative privacy of a high box made practicable, all the while taking in every moment of the unfolding drama with a rapt concentration that would, to the casual observer, doubtless account nicely for the gleeful expression Kennedy wore as he leaned forward, in the process dragging his fingers along Edrington's thigh and stealing around his knee to feather teasingly up the seam of his breeches again. He'd attempted to quell him once, frowning, and been stopped in his tracks by the flicker of a pink tongue as Kennedy leaned in to whisper in his ear, "I've wondered since I watched you ride up to the dock, My Lord, what it would take to crack your cool facade in two. More than this, I'm certain of that much. Just sit back and" -- warm breath washed over Edrington's ear and he shivered -- "enjoy the entertainment."

And he had, half-amused in spite of himself. He'd known the man was brave; he'd known he was sensual. He'd not known that the two qualities would, when coupled with freedom from the constraints of shipboard life, render him utterly, wickedly shameless.

_ Now I want_  
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,  
And my ending is despair,  
Unless I be relieved by -- 

_Dear God_. All around him, people were rising from their seats, applauding. It was over. He leaned over and spoke into Kennedy's ear, trusting to the racket of the crowd around them to mask his words. "Just -- what else have you done in that convenient alley?"

He wondered idly how long it generally took Kennedy's superiors to learn what that particularly demure expression meant. "Not what you're contemplating, unless I miss my guess. Are you thinking it wants a further christening?"

Edrington rested a carefully casual-seeming hand on the back of his neck and growled into his ear, satisfied beyond words at the shiver he elicited. "I am _thinking_ of taking you back to the inn where there is decent privacy and I shall have a great deal of time at my disposal in which to deal with you thoroughly and properly. But one ought always to consider carefully what possibilities exist if the original plan proves untenable. Which it may, if you do not behave yourself." He tightened his hand briefly and released him, schooling his face into stern lines. "Now. Are you going to permit me to get you safely behind closed doors, Mr Kennedy?"

* * *

Archie moaned, twisting against Edrington, crushing himself into the lean body that slid so demandingly over him. True to his stated intent, Edrington had been all restraint as they walked briskly back from the theatre, even commenting on several subtle points of the play, and Archie had smiled privately and begun to consider his next move as he preceded him up the stairs. His smugness had lasted for exactly as long as it had taken Edrington to follow him into the room, close and lock the door, and get him against the wall. Now he was held there, at the dubious mercy of the man he'd taunted all evening, hands pinned above his head, mouth expertly ravished, wondering desperately if perhaps he ought to have been a _trifle_ less provocative.

But it was good, God, warmth and wetness and the sharp rush of pleasure from his prick as he drove his hips into Edrington's and the sweet aching of need as he twisted against air and the sound of harsh breathing as his throat was claimed by teeth and tongue and the fire and triumph in the dark eyes as Edrington pulled away to drink in the sight of his shamelessness. It was good to be warm. It was good to feel only pleasurable urgency, only playful trepidation. Edrington's mouth came down on his again and he rose to meet it, capturing his tongue and sucking it strongly, stropping against him like a cat, almost purring like a cat at the rough friction. He wanted more. He wanted everything.

He tore his mouth free for a moment, long enough to gasp "Clothes -- " before he was pulled into another long, dark undertow of a kiss, and even as he opened his mouth to the demanding tongue he felt his hands released, felt strong hands freeing him from his coat and pushing it from his shoulders, brought his own hands down and began to help strip away the layers that concealed and separated them.

They were down to breeches and shoes now and Archie thought he couldn't bear it, couldn't wait any longer to feel flesh heating his skin; he reached back to thread his hand through the lacing of Edrington's breeches and pull him in. Caught him off balance and pressed his advantage, twisting until it was Edrington against the wall now, Edrington whose mouth was plundered and whose shuddering hips were straining against the pace Archie set, Edrington who moaned as his hands were caught and held behind his back, and that was good too. Archie laughed against the salty skin of his throat, between nips and kisses, and at Edrington's groggy, enquiring "Mmmm?", he smiled up at him and kissed him soundly once more, laughing again for sheer joy as he tugged and they slid to the floor, still entwined.

Somehow he'd ended up on his back, sprawled underneath Edrington, the weight of the man crushing him into the floor, his hand still entwined in his lacing, feet scrabbling on the floor and the slick sweet slide of skin and he wanted them naked, wanted to race to the finish. Wanted it never to end. He moaned a protest as he felt the weight come off, as Edrington somehow freed himself from his grip and pulled back to straddle him, thwarting his squirms with a grin and a squeeze of strong thighs -- _ all that bloody riding, that must account for it._. But if his prick was denied he still had a hot mouth at his throat and the scent of him in his nose, and sharp teeth nipped where his shoulder met his neck and he shuddered. _Oh._

Edrington grinned fiercely against the curve of Kennedy's collarbone, feeling him thrash beneath him, breathing in the scent of his skin, sweat and salt and a hint of soap, watching the column of his throat working as he bit back a high, breathy moan. It had been worth waiting for, this; if he hadn't wanted the skin and the scent and the sounds and the long, slow shivers and sighs he would have given in after all and hauled him into the alley, but he'd meant to do this properly, to wring every possible moment of pleasure from it, and he would.

He groped for Archie's hand; caught it. Brought it to his mouth and pressed kisses along the palm, watching dazed blue eyes widen in confusion until he nipped a fingertip and smiled around it at the gasping response. Ran his tongue down it, teasing the palm, trailing back to nibble again, greedily drinking in every change in expression as mouth followed tongue and he sucked strongly, feeling Archie grow frantic beneath him.

"Thoroughly. And properly. I did say so, did I not?" he reminded him, before returning to his explorations, teasing and playing with the hand he had captured as if he had all the time in the world, until Archie's moans changed to whimpers and his head rolled aimlessly against the boards.

"I'll never last. I never can, I know it," he gasped, and thrust again. Fell back, defeated, and swore.

"You shall. I'll see to that. Just--" Edrington grinned -- "enjoy the entertainment." He closed his teeth gently on his wrist and commenced his explorations in earnest.

Kennedy really was a beautiful man, more strongly built than he seemed in uniform, and so responsive that Edrington found the last of his impatience dissolving in fascination. Skating his tongue over the inside of his wrist produced the most fascinating whimper; sucking the soft skin at the bend of his elbow, a giggle. Gentle teeth closing on the muscle of his shoulder brought a deep moan so intriguing that Edrington lingered there, biting and licking, swooping up for a long, deep kiss before returning to wander along his throat and graze over his chest, until he caught a nipple between his teeth and attacked it with his mouth, drawing it in and flicking rapidly, keeping time with his hand on the other. He glanced up and caught his breath; Kennedy's face was split by a grin at once lascivious and joyful, so enticing it made him aware once again of how insistent his own desire was becoming. He moved on, tracing a path to the waist of Kennedy's breeches, mouth working more fiercely now, hands assailing the buttons until he could push the fabric aside far enough to nuzzle at the curve of a hipbone before grasping Kennedy's hips firmly and lapping at the slickness that covered the head of his now-twitching prick.

Archie twisted beneath him, yowling like a cat, hands snapping up to cling to Edrington's shoulder and arse, planting his feet and thrusting urgently against the confining hands at his hips, until Edrington began to work his mouth down over him and he fell back on a long, plaintive cry, his whimpers urging Edrington on he fell into a rhythm, slow and deep and wet, teasing even as he urged him ever higher, pulling back, drawing it out as long as he might, knowing that in any case it could not be long now.

Sure enough, in a few more moments Archie was thrusting against his throat, moving so strongly that all Edrington's weight would not suffice to keep him still, and Edrington let him set the pace for a final series of deep thrusts that brought him rapidly, until he was spilling into Edrington's mouth with a cry that was almost a shriek, falling back limply as the spasms died away, then hauling Edrington onto him and clinging fiercely, whispering his name against his neck, spilling hot tears over his throat.

After a long moment his grip slackened, and Edrington pulled away a little, concerned, only to meet with a glowing smile.

"It's all right." Kennedy said, softly. "Better than all right. I just -- I had forgotten."

Edrington smiled back, tentatively until he felt Kennedy's hand began to stroke down his spine, tracing each bump carefully, skating over muscle and rib, seeming to draw forth all the pent-up arousal in him and send it racing over his skin, making him groan and press his mouth to Archie's shoulder, gnawing and sucking, gasping as he felt himself pressed backwards, floorboards cool against his back.

"Let's see what else I might have forgotten, shall we?" Kennedy shifted until he hovered above Edrington and set to work pressing kisses over the lines of his jaw and throat, nipping gently at his ear, chuckling at the quivering, whimpering response a judicious combination of feathery kisses and warm breath just behind his ear produced. Emboldened, he strayed further, lingering over the sharp jut of collarbone, learning the textures and contours and tastes of him, investigating the jagged red scar over his collarbone curiously, running his tongue over it to trace the line, returning now and again to his mouth, dusting little kisses here and there, careful not to neglect the tender skin from ear to nape before he made his way downward to roll a nipple under his tongue, tracing his hands over the sharp points of hipbone just visible above the waist of his breeches.

He pulled away for a moment to appreciate the sight of him so abandoned, hands curling and grasping aimlessly, sweat sheening his throat, lean belly twisting beneath Archie's hand as he strained against his breeches. He'd expected to feel awkward, if not downright petrified, when it came to it. He felt ... covetous. Christmas had come at last, and here was his gift. He began to free Edrington from the confinement of his buttons, occupying his mouth meanwhile chasing a rivulet of sweat across Edrington's chest, surprising a giggle from him when he strayed too far over a rib and found a ticklish spot.

The last button vanquished, he paused, his forehead on Edrington's hip, and breathed deeply. Clean skin and the musk of arousal; he smiled as he nuzzled the swollen flesh, trailing his tongue along its length, circling the head, giving himself time to become used to the taste -- better than he recalled -- before he let his mouth slide over the head and set to work in earnest.

Edrington gasped. He'd scarcely dared breathe as Kennedy had explored him, suddenly afraid again of pushing for too much, too soon, but the tentative flickering tongue and huffs of breath over his sensitised flesh had been sweet torment, sharpened by the fear that even at this juncture Kennedy might yet pull away. Instead, he was enveloped in tightness and heat, long strokes punctuated by maddening sweeps of tongue. He let his head loll aimlessly and surrendered, rocking his hips into the blissful sensation, murmuring encouragement, until he felt Kennedy increase his efforts just enough to start him spiralling towards release, faster as the hand which had cupped his hip drifted downwards. He forced his head forward, then, and opened his eyes to see Archie's mouth on him, blue eyes flickering up to gauge his response as the hand between his thighs stroked and pressed, making him snap his hips with an airless gasp that made Kennedy's eyes spark and widen with glee.

Kennedy had found the perfect rhythm now, hand's petting driving him up into that clever mouth, mouth working him, tongue slipping and sliding over him with every motion, all of it pulling him headlong towards climax, and he closed his eyes for fear that the sight would send him over right then, then opened them and gazed transfixed, until he could bear no more and fell back, hanging on the brink for a long, desperate second before sensation crashed over him, pulled him under, and he went gladly, giving himself to the tide until at last he lay limp and spent, one hand entwined in Kennedy's hair, the other lazily stroking his back.

* * *

Archie shifted against the hard floor; however pleasing a mattress Edrington might make in principle, there was no denying that the man was a fraction on the bony side, quite apart from being too slender to prevent Archie's hipbone digging into the boards. "Come on, Edrington" he said. "There's a perfectly lovely bed, right over there."

He elicited only a sated grin and a noise that made him think of a disgruntled cat.

It took some moderately ruthless poking and prodding to get Edrington over to the bed and relieved of his shoes and stockings, but as he leaned over him to begin on the breeches he found a busy pair of hands before him, stripping them away and tossing them to the floor. As Archie straightened to strip himself he glanced up and was surprised to find Edrington bright-eyed, watching appreciatively as he bent to cope with his shoes. When he was naked, Edrington reached up a hand to pull him onto the bed, and they kissed, relaxed and langourous.

Archie trailed a hand from Edrington's shoulder to his hip, exploring lazily, until he found a spot that made him gasp and arch, deepening the kiss and bringing his own hand up to trace the muscles of Archie's back.

They sighed against each other's mouths as they explored, playfulness slowly giving way to greater intensity, hands dipping lower until each had a warm hand enclosing them, squirming and nipping at each other's mouths, free hands twining above their heads, rolling together until Archie was pressed into the soft mattress, Edrington's hand slipping down to gently part his thighs, short nails making him shiver as they circled upwards. He tensed, uncertain as the warm hand shifted to tease at the curve of his arse, then forced himself to relax, letting the shivery pleasure distract him, reassured by the steady pressure of the mouth against his.

Edrington shifted against his hip, feeling his prick stir impatiently, and freed himself reluctantly from the kiss, leaning back to search rapidly beneath the bed for the oil he had taken care to leave there when he had sorted out his baggage earlier, returning triumphant to catch Kennedy's shoulder and turn him. In the next moment, his wrist was caught and held in a painful grip; he looked up, startled, to see Kennedy's face frozen, his eyes blazing, and flinched.

Edrington held very still, watchful, waiting. At length, Kennedy sighed and slumped back against the pillow, letting his grip fall away to nothing, the fury in his eyes fading to a bruised, wary look.

 

"There are any number of things we can do," Edrington said, cautiously. "If you don't care for -- "

"I don't know," Kennedy said, quietly.

Edrington frowned. "You've not -- " There was more to it, he suspected, more than simple nerves in this; he'd wondered for a moment if Kennedy meant to strike him, or worse.

"Nothing ever went quite that far. Until I joined the Navy." His lips twisted downwards bitterly.

"I see." And he did, and had to turn aside for a moment. Turned back to see Kennedy shift his gaze away, wariness in turn replaced by a dull, resigned expression that it hurt to see.

"Is he dead?"

"He is."

"Excellent. I hope it was slow. And very painful."

Kennedy looked at him wide-eyed.

Edrington smiled slightly. "I apologise for my presumption."

"Don't." Kennedy sat up, taking Edrington by the shoulders and facing him squarely. "I said I didn't know. Not ... that I didn't want to know. What's it's like with, with someone I want. Someone I chose. I just ... panicked, for a moment. If you still want to, I..."

"I think it might in fact be extremely difficult for me to name anything I should like better. If -- if you're sure."

Kennedy looked at him with, Edrington was relieved to see, a trace of his previous mischief re-emerging. "It seems a popular enough occupation. I assume there must be something to it. Yes, I'm sure."

Edrington kissed him then, slow and wondering, stroking his hair, smiling against his mouth as he felt Kennedy begin to relax against him, taking his time about it, coaxing a slow response until Kennedy was hard against him once more and pulling Edrington down with him as he lay back.

Edrington pulled away then, searching his face as Kennedy sighed, once, and let his knees fall apart slightly, smiling reassuringly up at him, trusting, quiescent. Sent a gentle hand questing down his torso, noting the muted response. _Not good enough,_ he thought, _not nearly good enough._ He drew a deep breath, considering, and bent forward to press a kiss where jaw met throat. Kennedy looked sidelong at him, startled, and he smiled. "We have time," he said.

Edrington buried his face for a moment in Kennedy's hair. _It appears that a policy of avoiding the seduction of the innocent is not without its hazards. Such as the possibility that a comparative innocent might seduce **you**_. His usual approach to these matters clearly would not do here; time for something different.

He thought of a horse he'd bought on an impulse, years ago, after he'd seen its owner senselessly thrash it. It had taken more patience than he'd thought he had, but in the end, he'd won it over.

_Patience. Move slowly, be gentle. Let him come to you_. And provide plenty of sugar lumps; he grinned, and began his campaign, letting the hand that rested in Kennedy's hair drift down to stroke the side of his neck, smoothing away the curls that clung there, slipping back to play at his nape, watching.

Kennedy stirred beneath him, restless, but he was smiling. Encouraged, Edrington brought his mouth down and captured his ear, pleased by the shivering response. More pleased by the hint of impatience. _Come to my hand. I'll not press you. I have all the time in the world ..._

* * *

Archie wiggled, chasing the hand that skated along the curve of his hip, brushed over his prick, shifted away to stroke along the line of his thigh, teased upwards -- he shifted encouragingly -- and danced away again as a lazy stroke of Edrington's tongue across his nipple distracted him, making him arch and bite his lip; the hand reappeared, curving around his arse, nails flicking, and he yelped.

He'd wondered, at first, what all this had to do with buggery; later, he'd forgotten the question. Now he thought he was starting to understand, as his hips arched off the bed, seeking the maddening hand that wandered between his thighs, teasing and provoking. It _was_ starting to sound decidedly appealing ... Edrington's hand dipped lower as they kissed, circling, and suddenly brushing him _there_. He moaned into Edrington's mouth and chewed on his lips, hauling him closer with a hand wrapped around his queue, fingers digging into his back, heedless of how roughly he was handing the man, but Edrington only murmured against him, soothing and appreciative, and continued his slow teasing, stroking his prick with slow, lazy motions, returning now more and more often to circle and pet, slipping away to torment him with half-promises ... he could understand how buggery could come to seem desireable.

He considered, in fact, that it might well become imperative.

"My Lord!"

This time when Edrington reached for the bottle of oil that lay on the bed and opened it, Archie only murmured contentedly and took advantage of his distraction to do some teasing of his own, stroking along Edrington's side to grasp his prick and regard it speculatively, flushing when Edrington shot him a knowing, sidelong look.

Still he flinched when a gentle finger pressed against him, only to moan as it was withdrawn and the slow circling began again. Damn the man, anyway -- _oh._ It was back again, and he welcomed it with a sigh, pulling Edrington down for another long kiss, the tongue that dipped into his mouth seeming to echo the languid teasing of the hand down below until the sensations ran together.

* * *

Edrington bit his lip in concentration; catching the rhythm of it. Press; wait. Press again, as Kennedy slowly relaxed under him. Distract him with a kiss and press his advantage, stroking in and out, first inciting Archie, then following his response. Twisting his hand slightly, he searched for the precise spot -- ah, there, if Archie's response was anything to go by. He pressed again, letting his thumb echo the motion without, and was rewarded by an astonished wail.

_Now_ he was ready, quite properly so, thought Edrington, smirking in satisfaction, unable to resist teasing a bit longer, gliding his fingers faster now, wringing sighs and whimpers from Archie, enjoying the play of expression on his flushed face and his increasingly frantic squirming, until finally Archie's moans became fevered demands and Edrington relented and pulled back to reach again for the oil.

* * *

Archie watched avidly as Edrington slathered oil over himself, wriggling appreciatively as he felt slick fingers inside him once more. He began to turn, and was stopped by Edrington's hand on his shoulder, and a shake of his head as Edrington moved over him, smiling at his surprise, pulling his hand away and shifting Archie's legs aside until he could lay between them. Archie kept his eyes fixed firmly on Edrington's face as he felt his prick nudging into him. _It will be all right. Even if -- _

In fact, it was little different at first, if anything smoother, easier, and he began first to relax, then to move, tentatively, experimentally, closing his eyes to concentrate on trying to recapture the sensation of friction -- _there_. Then it was better, as Edrington pressed steadily forward; he opened his eyes to see Edrington's face nigh-split in a grin, and grinned back. For a moment they lay still, foreheads pressed together, enjoying their triumph, then Edrington began to move within him, slow and gentle, leaning in to whisper encouragement, his watchful expression softening slowly to contentment as Archie, astonished, felt himself begin to push back, rolling his hips, seeking the best angle as Edrington set a slow, steady pace, giving him time to grow accustomed.

He scattered kisses over Edrington's jaw, down his throat, everywhere he could reach, hands tracing the line of his spine, skittering up to explore the nape of his neck, feeling the thick queue, following the line of it until his hand found the knot. He set his other hand to it, and at Edrington's questioning look, grinned up at him. "Mind?"

"Not at all. If you think you can --" he shifted, pressing more deeply into Archie, making him squirm -- "manage. Under the circumstances."

"I shall do my best," Archie promised, biting his lip in concentration as he worked at the knot, pausing at each thrust, returning doggedly to his task in between, wrinkling his nose in concentration, until the knot gave and he grinned in triumph and began to unwind the narrow ribbon. An end brushed over Alexander's back, making him shiver and break his rhythm. Archie did it again, delighted; Edrington responded by twisting his hips in a way that left Archie gasping and dropping the ends, only to grasp the half-undone queue again and trail the soft brush of hair over Edrington's shoulders until he twisted and bent to nip sharply at Archie's throat.

Eventually, the ribbon came free in his hand and Archie combed his fingers through the fall of hair, pulling it forward to cover them like a tent, amused by the unexpected spring of curls, until Edrington pulled back to brush the ends over Archie's upturned throat, chuckling at the discovery that he could make him giggle and gasp almost in the same breath.

* * *

Edrington pulled away, regarding the sight before him with, he thought, pardonable smugness; Kennedy's face was a study in debauchery -- flushed and damp, his eyes dazed, his mouth swollen and slack, tongue darting out between kisses to trace his lower lip as he rocked under Edrington's thrusts. Edrington noted the raggedness of his breathing and shifted lower, angling his hips, until Kennedy squeaked in astonishment and his head lolled back, breath coming in a series of short gasps, punctuated -- as Edrington gradually increased the pace of his thrusts -- by a series of whimpers until they in turn blended into an urgent, keening moan that made Edrington smile in anticipation.

Soon enough, Kennedy began to demand more, thrusting upwards, wrapping his hands around Edrington's arse, and Edrington gladly gave it to him, snapping his hips and biting his lip, forcing himself to relax even as he pushed him higher, holding to his control for dear life as Kennedy at last threw his head back and cried out, shudders wracking him as he wailed and thrashed.

* * *

Archie gave a final gasp and collapsed against the mattress, hands drifting aimlessly along Edrington's spine, coming to rest on his arse. Edrington was still within him, still hard; he realised a moment later that he was as well. Edrington chuckled and moved within him and he squirmed, unsure if the feeling of it was too much to bear; not quite, he decided a moment later, and not quite enough; he looked up in amazement. His questioning look was met by a lazy smirk, and a long, slow thrust that had him rolling his hips up to meet it.

"Thoroughly and properly", Edrington reminded him, still smirking, and Archie could only grin weakly back as Edrington increased the pace once more. Archie was astonished to find how little it took to have him once again moaning and thrashing, head rolling heedlessly from side to side, rocking into each thrust, pulling Alexander down for frantic kisses, forever on the brink of an explosion which never quite came. He brought his hand towards his prick, now twitching between them, only to have it grasped firmly and pinned to the bed beside him.

"Not... quite ... yet." Edrington gasped, and Archie wailed and bucked desperately, hands digging into the mattress. Surely there was no more? But there was, keen and sharp and nearly intolerable, and even as his body fought desperately for release, this was better than he had ever imagined it might be, pleasure coming in waves still and the sight of Edrington, hair tangled about his face, dark eyes avid and greedy, drinking it all in, and he half-wished it might never end, especially when Edrington brought a hand to his nipple and rolled it gently, petting and stroking and then pinching sharply. Something within him tightened; the waves became a flood, and he could do nothing but hold to the bed and let it take him under again.

Oh, it was maddening, this, in its ebbs and flows, in the way it confounded his expectations again and again like a treacherous ocean, driving him spinning towards land only to pull him under again, taking him further and further from shore.

Finally, half-crazed after the completion lurking just out of reach, Archie wrapped his legs around Edrington's back and clung, kissing him frantically, gnawing at his mouth, thrusting and bearing down desperately against the measured thrusts that pushed him higher and higher while release drifted teasingly ahead of him.

He found something that made Edrington gasp and thrust into him harder, a twist of the hips and a trick of the muscles, so he did it again, and again, teeth bared with effort and frustration, until Edrington was growling above him and snapping his hips hard, fighting for control and finally, finally, he came down on Archie, sinking sharp teeth into his shoulder, moaning heedlessly, grinding into him and at last, at last Archie's prick was crushed between their bellies, slippery with sweat. It was almost perfect, and when he found his hands were free and brought them down onto Edrington's arse to pull them tight together it _was_ perfect and he cried out once more, this time in triumph, spilling across his belly, over his chest, holding onto Edrington for dear life until it was over and Edrington was taut as rigging in a gale, desperate concentration warring with the satisfaction on his face as he held himself almost still, waiting.

Archie tugged on him again, moving beneath him, insistent, until Edrington began to move with him, raggedly now, short rapid thrusts as he slumped against Archie's chest, burying his face in Archie's shoulder and uttering hoarse, muffled cries as he thrust frantically, until his head snapped back and he met Archie's eyes, stiffening and crying out as he spent, finally collapsing, shuddering, to lie across him, turning his face to tuck it into Archie's shoulder with a contented sigh.

* * *

Edrington stirred from where Archie had tucked him firmly against his side. He looked up, to see Archie regarding him, bright-eyed; he gazed back muzzily, unable to restrain a small smirk of satisfaction as he settled back onto his shoulder and said, "Mmm, well?"

"I'm not entirely certain," Kennedy said, and Edrington looked up, startled, to see Kennedy regarding him solemnly.

Unfair, so unfair to confuse a man in his condition like this. "I -- what? Not certain of..."

"This matter of buggery. I'm not at all certain it suits me."

Kennedy snickered at the look on his face and relented, pulling Edrington on top of him and kissing him soundly. "I may need another demonstration. Just to be quite sure, you see."

 

Edrington kissed him back. "You're joking."

 

 

"Am I?"

 

"You're not joking. Dear God. Well, on your own head be it if you can't get out of bed tomorrow."

"Were we proposing to?"

* * *

Edrington groaned. "Kennedy. I am _not_ eighteen years old. I am in fact an old man, comparatively."

"Compared to whom?"

"Compared, for example, to the man I was at midnight. I am old. I am tottery. I am weak, decrepit, and in serious danger of being the first Earl of Edrington to die in bed. This bed. Any minute now."

Kennedy ran a lazy hand down his belly, stroking lower as his lips teased behind Edrington's ear. In the growing light, Edrington could see the expression of studied innocence on his face; he groaned. "It is only that I might forget my lessons if I fail to put them into use immediately," Kennedy said earnestly. "Captain Pellew insists that a man has only truly learned a thing when he has put it into practice." He ran his tongue down to Edrington's collarbone, back to his ear. Traced the curve.

Edrington, improbably, felt himself begin to stiffen. "I have every confidence in your ability to retain the essential points over" -- his face split in a yawn -- "the course of a few hours' sleep, however. And I have quite lost the use of my limbs." He closed his eyes, ostentatiously. Let his head fall to one side. _I am asleep. See how soundly I sleep, you wicked boy?_

 

Kennedy only grinned, and increased his efforts, taking full advantage of the expanse of throat thus bared. "You'll not need them." Warm lips on the pulse of his throat. "It is the responsibility -- " hand tracing down his chest, gently pinching a nipple on the way -- "of a candidate in any proper examination --" trailing lower to ghost over the sensitive curve of his hipbone -- "to demonstrate his proficiency --" tongue chasing through the hollow at his collarbone -- "in the subject at hand."

"There is nothing --" Archie's hand strayed over his thigh, teasing upwards, pulling back. _Oh, Dear God._ "-- nothing even slightly proper about --ah -- any of this." His hips slipped up to press against the hand that was feathering over the length of his prick; uncooperative bloody thing, didn't seem to understand about sleep. He yawned again, stretching, casually shifting beneath Archie's palm one last time before rolling aside, slumping into the mattress. Archie only chuckled and transferred his attentions to his arse, drawing lazy patterns that spiralled from the small of his back to the crease of his thighs and back again, fingers combing damp hair aside to expose Edrington's neck. He bit his lip, praying that the sigh which escaped him might be taken for a stifled yawn, _I always sleep like this. Really. It means nothing that my arse is up in the air like that, convenient to your hand..._ and tried not to wriggle as he felt Archie hovering over him, warm breath playing across his back. _In a moment, I shall put a stop to this. I shall insist on sleep. In ... just a moment more._

"You are fortunate that I am so completely exhausted, you know." Another yawn. "Or I should take quite drastic measures to deal with you."

Kennedy giggled. "As a disincentive to vice, your 'drastic measures' lack something. My Lord."

"Do they?" Face like an angel and that dulcet "My Lord" -- even though Kennedy's hand was no longer playing across his skin, he somehow doubted that this was a retreat -- no, it was back, and he was far too glad of it.

"Damn. I'd have taken my oath that --" Kennedy's mouth on his spine forced a shiver from him -- "Christ, Kennedy! -- that oil was out of -- ah -- reach."

"It was."

"It appears I must --" Kennedy flexed his fingers and Edrington found he could move after all -- "commend you on your initiative, then. And on your ... close attention to your ... Oh, _God_, there, yes ... lessons. _Do_ you wish me dead, Lieutenant?"

 

"_I_ seem to have survived."

"So you did. Did I --" damn those strong, clever fingers and the way they had him groaning and -- "Oh, _bugger_"

Kennedy chuckled. "Gladly."

Edrington hissed as Kennedy slid into him and wrapped a firm hand around his prick. Sleep ... could wait.

End of Act Two: ices, lemonade and towels available in the lobby.

 

* * *

ACT THREE:

Kennedy clattered down the stairs ahead of Edrington, who hid a sigh as he followed. Archie _qua_ Archie could be an exhausting enough companion -- a reminiscent smirk played over his lips -- but a Kennedy with something on his mind ...

Whatever it was, he'd been chewing on it ever since the letter had arrived after breakfast. Chewing, and unless Edrington missed his guess, finding the flavour utterly vile. They'd woken late to the smell of coffee arriving with breakfast, and Kennedy, much to Edrington's relief, had seemed in the sunniest of moods. Breakfast had been a leisurely, teasing affair -- though it turned out that Kennedy was capable of defending his share of the coffee with exceptional cunning, guile, and, if necessary, ferocity -- consumed in bed and almost entirely, it seemed, from one another's lips -- and other places. The mail had arrived along with the second pot of coffee.

Edrington, who was poring over his own correspondence, had heard a small, stifled sound that at first he took for laughter and looked up, his expression clearing as he turned, smiling, to Kennedy, only to find him staring fixedly at nothing. He'd recovered himself quickly enough, claiming to have only been astonished that anyone should have found him so rapidly, but his face was closed, and his manner stilted, and even when he showed Edrington the letter, which he did willingly enough, Edrington could not for the life of him make out why it should have cast so long a shadow over him.

Pacing. Fussing with his clothes. Toying with dinner. He'd shied from the lightest touch, jumped at the most ordinary noise, flitted from topic to topic and place to place like a hummingbird, and through it all been determinedly cheerful, warding off questions before Edrington could truly form them. And he'd smiled and smiled again, until one flinched from the sight.

Edrington tried again, a little hopelessly. "Kennedy -- Archie, what on earth is wrong? You act as if you've been sentenced to be flogged 'round the fleet. When you have, in point of fact, merely received a remarkably appealing note, on lavender-scented paper, no less, Good God! -- inviting you to see Kitty Cobham steal _School for Scandal_ out from under the rest of the cast."

"I told you, Alexander. I'm fine." Kennedy shot him a sidelong look. "If my behaviour has been less than agreeable, I apologise. Unreservedly."

"Your behaviour has been unexceptionable. You have been cheerful, amusing, resolute, and altogether a shining example of grace under pressure. Were you one of my officers, and this the hour before a battle, I should be extraordinarily pleased with you. Now. What in all of Heaven and Hell is the matter?"

They paced along the street silently for almost a block, Kennedy gazing determinedly ahead.

"Archie." Edrington let the silence stretch out again until Archie sighed.

"Damn it, Alexander!"

"Yes?"

"I... I know her. From before."

"I had deduced that. From the note. From your stage-door days?"

"Yes." Archie's face had gone absolutely still.

"Is that what this is about?" Edrington shook his head. "If every man who was once a callow young boy making calf's-eyes at a pretty young actress -- ah. More than calf's eyes?"

A small smile. Small, but real enough. Not that, then. "Not much more."

"Obviously you made an impression. After all, it's been, what --"

"It's been two years, about. We're going to be late." The wide, ghastly parody of a smile was back again. "I seem to keep saying that to you. When it comes to the theatre. Do you know, I have never seen this play before, only read it?" He marched determinedly onward, and Edrington perforce went with him.

He endured three more blocks of inconsequential chatter before his patience stretched thin and snapped.

"Archie!" He reached out to grasp his sleeve, but Archie twisted away, though he did stop, albeit with an exaggeratedly tolerant air. Edrington ground his teeth.

"We're going to be late," Archie said again.

"Then we shall be late. As late as necessary." _It is just possible, Kennedy, that you are as stubborn as I was at your age._

"People are staring."

Edrington glanced about. "So they are. If you care for their opinions, well." He shrugged. "You know what I require."

He tried to work through this. Archie had been boiling with nervous energy all day. Now he was still. Calm. Wary. _Shut away, again._ Afraid. Of Kitty Cobham? _Two years?_

"She vanished for awhile, I recall. Nobody knows where she was."

"On the Continent, mostly. I gather. For the love of God, Alexander, what does it matter, anyway?"

"It matters to me."

"Why?" Edrington opened his mouth. Shut it again. _Later._

"It matters. You were in prison."

A hit, there; Kennedy's composure cracked for a moment, and he looked suddenly very young indeed. "Yes. Yes, for Christ's sake. I saw her when I was in prison. What in God's name have you heard about that -- about that hellish mess?"

"Five escapes." _I'm not sure I could have done as much._ What was there to be ashamed of in that?

"Christ. Five escape _attempts_. Obviously, none of them were remotely successful."

"The revealing part was what I was _not_ told, actually." At Archie's puzzled look, he went on: "Your men protect you rather fiercely."

"It is -- in their interests, not to let my ... failures of nerve bring us all to grief."

Edrington rolled his eyes. Matthews, who, it seemed, was normally quite free with his opinions, had made himself inescapably clear in very few words. Yes My Lord and No Major, and I really couldn't say My Lord. And all the while his face had said quite plainly that if Edrington was looking for anything he could use to Our Acting Lieutenant Kennedy's discredit, well, Major, with respect My Lord, he could sod right off, Sir.

"So you met her again in prison. You serve every day with men who were imprisoned with you. I fail to see how --"

"I did not say we met again. I said, I saw her, Alexander. And she saw me. Saw what I had allowed myself to be reduced to. I was half-starved, unable to walk, unable to even feed myself, mumbling and raving like an idiot, and covered in my own filth. She turned her face and walked away. Not that I blame her. Even Horatio -- had to force himself to come near me."

Edrington made himself meet Archie's eyes, fighting for some appearance of calm. He had pried the lid off of this Pandora's box; he'd no right to look away now. _Handle him carefully ... _

"And why after that she wants to see me again -- ever again -- I cannot fathom. I never thought she was amused by freaks, before."

"But you are determined to see her."

"I'm done with running, that's all. Prison cured me of that, at least."

"Then let us get it done, by all means," Edrington said, and reached to lay a reassuring arm across Kennedy's shoulder.

He stiffened, shrugging him off. "I hope I am not _quite_ such a coward yet as to presume to take advantage of your pity to lean on you for protection from a lady's well-earned scorn. Major." He turned on his heel and stalked away.

Or began to. Edrington had checked himself and begun to draw back, stung by the cold note in Archie's voice, but this was too much. _Major, is it?_ Somehow he had the back of Archie's coat in his fist and was half-dragging him into a nearby alley. He tossed him towards the wall and was at him as he turned.

He was surprised to find his tone so calm, almost conversational: "So you propose to go straight to the attack again, all guns blazing, with no notion at all of what might -- or might not -- be hiding in the trees?"

Archie stared back at him, woodenly. "Just as you say, My Lord. I --"

"Be quiet, Mr Kennedy! Just -- you will keep your tongue behind your teeth. And listen. Carefully."

Archie opened his mouth. Closed it again. Nodded.

Edrington found himself casting about madly for words. He settled on: "You have seen my shoulder."

Archie nodded, puzzled.

"The slash went to the bone. I swooned. Then I screamed. I could scarce lift my arm for months. It really is quite decently strong, now. Well enough, for all practical purposes. But it pains me, sometimes. And I have to take more care with it than I do with the other. It is certainly weaker than yours. As you know." He paused. "Do you despise me for it?"

"I -- No."

"If you spend enough nights in my bed you will doubtless hear the story. I'm told I cry out in my sleep now, and babble sometimes. Will that make you hate me?"

He smiled in cold satisfaction as he saw Archie's eyes widen. _Do we begin to understand one another, now?_

"This is not your own private war, Mr. Kennedy, nor are you the only man to have been so gravely wounded by it. And I have no patience left for watching brave men ruin themselves through foolish shame and martyrdom. Not anymore."

Archie was gaping at him openly now, ever more off-balance. _Good._

He forced himself to loosen his iron grip on Archie's arms. "Now. We are going to the theatre. We will see a play. You will face Kitty Cobham. And I shall stand by your side, ready to lend you my aid, should you require it. You, in turn, shall endeavour to accept the situation at least one-half as gracefully as Lieutenant Hornblower was apparently able to accept you risking your neck to save him, when he could not save himself. Is this quite clear, sir?"

Archie nodded, wide-eyed.

"Good. And one more thing?"

"Yes?"

Edrington kissed him, hard and furious. "Do not _ever_ use the word 'pity' to me again. Idiot." He released him with a final, brisk shake.

The remainder of the walk to the theatre was made in silence. As they took their seats, however, Edrington felt the lightest brush of a touch across the back of his hand. He looked up to see Kennedy smiling at him, tentatively, and looked a question at him.

"We seem to be accumulating a rather ... odd set of theatregoing traditions, do we not?" Archie said.

"Somewhat outré, yes," Edrington replied, settling back for the performance with a small smile of his own.

* * *

Edrington studied Archie's shadowed profile as he lifted his hand to knock at the dressing-room door. There'd been no flirtation during the performance this time; Archie had sat absorbed, straining forward in his seat like a thoroughbred at the starting line, rarely taking his eyes from the stage, almost jumping at Miss Cobham's entrance. Edrington had risked a cautious hand on his forearm, then, and Kennedy had not only allowed it to remain but slowly relaxed into the touch.

Edrington's mind had wandered in the second act, and his eyes with them, until he'd found himself peering down on an unruly mop of dark hair topping a blue-coated set of shoulders.

He had returned his eyes, if not his thoughts, to the stage, but not before the dark-haired man below had turned his head enough that Edrington was quite certain of his man. There were not two such noses in His Majesty's Navy; that was Lieutenant Hornblower seated below them.

Beside him, Kennedy had stirred, following his gaze. Edrington had heard him inhale, sharply, but he'd given no other sign -- if one were willing to dismiss the hand that had ghosted once again over his as merest coincidence. Greatly daring, he had tangled his fingers in Archie's for a brief moment before returning his hand to the arm of his seat, leaving it ever-so casually within easy reach.

Now they stood before the door, listening to the sounds of rustling within, and Archie was squaring his shoulders and biting his lip, soothing the small hurt with his tongue as the door opened.

* * *

Archie stepped into the room and sketched a bow. "Miss Cobham. Thank you for your kind invitation; your performance was, as your performances always are, quite brilliant."

He drew back, stung, to see her flinch and close her eyes briefly. _What did you expect?_

He forged on. "Miss Cobham. May I have the honour to present Lord Edrington? My Lord? Miss Kitty Cobham."

Alexander bowed slightly over her hand. "We have met, as it happens, Kennedy. Miss Cobham. Lieutenant Hornblower."

Archie turned, startled. Sure enough, Horatio was standing in the dressing room, watching him intently, shifting nervously away from his gaze. _I am to be spared nothing, then. All my trouble to make him forget what I was ... well. It can be done again, though I am tired just thinking of it._

"Horatio." He smiled, tentatively, and the small, tight smile he received in return made his breath catch and stutter. He turned away; _no help there_, and found himself again face to face with Miss Cobham, who had been exchanging a few low words with Edrington. She startled Archie by catching his hands and swinging them aside as she looked him over. He schooled his expression and endured it, holding to the reassurance of a flash of a red-clad shoulder where Alexander stood silent and watchful, until she took his face between her hands and sought his eyes. He looked away then, afraid. "Miss Cobham, I..." Her soft sound of protest cut him off sharply.

"Oh, Miss Cobham this and Miss Cobham that! I suppose I deserved that, Archie, I know I did. But will you not let me apologise, and be friends, and call me Kitty as you used to?"

Archie stared. "I -- ah. You -- apologise?"

"For that day in the infirmary. When I ran from you."

Archie felt his face grow hot. "I didn't, I -- I don't blame you for that," he said. "I was no sort of sight for a lady, I -- I scarce looked human, I -- "

"You looked like a man who had been treated badly and was very ill. I recognised you. And I did _not_ want to be known for Kitty Cobham, actress. So I ran. Like a coward. Knowing, _knowing_ what you would believe. I'd built up such an edifice of lies -- I ought to have trusted you. Asked for your help."

Archie stared into her face for a long time.

"Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety," he said, finally.

She smiled sadly. "They do not go together."

"Not in that place, Kitty," he said, and took her hands.

"I think we all left ... things we'd rather have kept, there," she said, and sighed. "Did Horatio tell you how I --?"

It was Archie's turn to interrupt. "No. And I don't need to know. You're right, we -- everyone betrays themself there, sooner or later. Except Horatio --"

"Who merely betrayed both of _you_," Horatio said, bitterly. They swung round to stare at him, aghast at his expression.

"If I hadn't confronted Miss Cobha -- Kitty, then," he corrected himself at a look from her -- "like a fool at the top of my lungs -- "

Archie was having none of it. "If I'd had the wit not to tell you -- Bloody Hell, I ought to have known there was no harm in her for us!"

"If I'd trusted you more --" Kitty paced.

It was too much, too quick, this outpouring of folly and shame. Horatio and Kitty battled on, each seemingly determined to engross the greater share of blame to themselves, drowning each other out and leaving him entirely unable to make himself heard. His head ached. "Enough!" Archie said, and glared at Horatio until he shut his mouth with an almost audible snap. For a moment Archie simply stood, stunned. _I was the Hamlet in this tale, the madman whose weakness nearly brought it all crashing down ... and here we stand, all costumed as comic gravediggers, having a drink together after the performance. Or, not having a drink. I think ... I think I would very much like a drink._

"Stand thou forth; the time is fair again," he said, and smiled at Kitty's startled glance and slow nod.

"If it end so meet, the bitter past, more welcome is the sweet?" she said, and dimpled suddenly. "Now, let me look at you properly; is this the boy who used to bring me violets and cadge for kisses with every pretty glance?"

He laughed. "Not quite. And I brought no violets, alas."

"Well, I shall forgive you. At some cost."

"A word and a blow, Lady?" he teased, then blinked as she kissed him, too startled to do anything but kiss her back.

When she stepped back, she brought her hand to his cheek, her eyes still searching his face. "Have I got rid of my sin by kissing you?" she asked, soberly, and he smiled at her. "Then give me -- " he rolled his eyes, and she made a rueful face.

"A kiss as long as my exile?" he said instead, and brought his mouth back to hers, letting her part his lips and taste him until the flicker of her tongue made him catch her nape in his hand and pull her close, exploring her mouth more confidently now, alternately teasing and coaxing until she shivered deliciously in his arms.

"Not quite the same boy, indeed!" she said, flushed and smiling, when he let her go.

"No. Still the same Kitty, though, and I am heartily glad of it," he said, and kissed her hand extravagantly, bowing low. _I think I am a little mad from sheer relief._

He caught Horatio's amused eye on him and blushed scarlet, but Horatio only shook his head, smiling.

"I cannot help but feel that I am a mid again, understanding only a quarter of what is said to me, when I hear you two talk," he said.

"It wants a youth misspent, I think," Archie said, apologetically, "and a magpie's mind for words. It is no great trick, really."

"Still, I could wish for it," Horatio said.

"Words are easy, like the wind." They jumped slightly as Edrington unfolded himself from his place against the wall, smiling. Horatio blinked and looked to Archie, who grinned at him and finished the line just ahead of the others.

"Faithful friends are hard to find."

* * *

"And as for _you_ \--" Edrington found himself pulled forward by an insistent Kitty and looked over much as Archie had been -- "I don't believe you've changed a jot, for all you're Your Lordship now, and a Major on top of it." He smirked and shook his head at her air of exaggerated respect.

"I warn you, Kitty, if you address me as My Lord even once in private, I shall take -- I shall take it quite amiss," he said, mock-stern.

She favoured him with a decidedly ... private smile at that, and murmured, "drastic measures?" He flushed even as he smiled back at her, the more so at the surprised giggle from behind him. _Rather warm in here..._ He glanced rather helplessly at Hornblower, _that at least ought to be a reasonably safe place to look_, -- and found himself staring at a pale smudge of paint on the blue serge shoulder of his coat. He glanced back at Kitty, and she looked up to him demurely, the very picture of innocence.

He shook his head at her, leaning in to speak low in her ear, "Do _not_ play Ophelia to me, Lady; I know that look of old."

"Then you know there's no harm in this," she replied, equally soft, and he nodded. "So do not frown and speechify like Laertes, wretch!"

"Polonius, then, Lady?"

She dimpled at him for that, and for a moment he envied Hornblower as he stood deep in earnest discussion with Archie, until blue eyes glanced his way, full of deviltry, then returned to rest gleefully on the same betraying smudge. He found his humour entirely restored at the conspiratorial nature of the exchange, and returned his attention to Kitty, quite satisfied.

"If you would be so kind, my Lord," she said, and stepped away from him, eyes dancing.

"I heard that!" Archie called over.

"As did I," Edrington said, laughing at Kitty's look of mock-terror as he kissed her, brief but not quite chaste, and then again, for -- forfeit. Among other reasons; he was almost shamefully pleased to be able to fluster her as much as Archie had. Though nothing like as much as she'd used to fluster him, once; even now, he was half-stiff against her, and her appreciative murmur made him glance at the couch along the wall and clench his fingers in her hair, remembering ... she'd had him to her dressing room and flirted and teased relentlessly, driving him half-mad with baffled desire, until he'd picked her up bodily and carried her over there, astonishing himself a great deal -- _and her not at all_, he thought, remembering her satisfied laugh and how she had melted into him ... he cleared his throat.

"I believe -- "_I believe that I had best put a stop to this. Right now ... _ \-- "We are shocking Lieutenant Hornblower," he murmured, setting her back on her feet with a discreet pat and glancing over to see Hornblower, speaking earnestly to Archie. "Has that young man the least idea just how very thoroughly shocked he is likely to be before morning?"

"Not in the least, Alexander, and don't you tell him, either. You're a fine one to talk, for that matter. Are you leading that young man astray?"

He glanced over at Archie, who was gripping Hornblower's hands earnestly as their heads bent together, and grinned at her. "He lets me believe it. I suspect I am being humoured."

"Well, best you lead him out of here, at any rate, for if you lose me _my_ quarry, I may well poach yours."

"Pity it's such a small dressing-room," he sighed, grinning as she smacked his arm. "Very well, then, we shall leave you to your sport."

* * *

They made their way along the dark streets in companionable near-silence until Alexander said casually, "You and Lieutenant Hornblower seemed to have a great deal to talk about."

Archie felt his face heat against the cool darkness. "He - ah -- he wondered if perhaps we might be free to accompany him to supper, some evening. And -- and he asked if you might spare me to him, to -- there is an exhibition, he says, that he thought I might enjoy." He'd said more than that, albeit stiltedly. How much more he'd _meant_, well. _Portsmouth hardly seems the same city without you_ and _I am quite dull, with no-one to make me talk, or to laugh at me_, hardly added up to a declaration of eternal devotion, but what was he to make of _I seem to turn to speak to you a hundred times a day; I think people must think me mad, to be so often seen gaping_? He set his jaw. _I will not make too much of it. Not again. Still -- _

He glanced over to see Alexander regarding him with an odd half-smile. "I rather expected as much."

"I -- do you mind?"

"Archie. If I were unwilling to spare you to Lieutenant Hornblower, I should have been a fool to begin this." He smiled at Archie's anxious expression, and continued, "In any case, it's not my choice to make. Nor his. But I hope you know you will -- never be unwelcome."

Archie paced on for a moment, taking this in. Considering. _Freedom. And somewhere to come back to. Against ... whatever Horatio is to me. And mine to decide._

He looked at Edrington, probing beneath the carefully cool expression. Saw resolution and anxiety mingled, and bit his lip.

_No. Not to decide. To choose._

_I choose ... not to give my parole again. At least for now._

They had almost reached the inn. As they made their way to the door, he grinned cheekily up at Alexander and said "I imagine I in return shall be expected to spare _you_ to pretty actresses and the odd Army Captain?"

Edrington smirked. "Ah -- opera singer, actually. Viennese. But you're right about the Army Captain, he is -- quite surpassingly odd."

"I imagine he would have to be," Archie said, demurely, surprising a snort from Alexander, who returned fire as they reached the stairs: "And talking of pretty actresses, what was that poppycock tale you told me about an alley in Portsmouth?"

"Well. It was behind a theatre. Against a brick wall. With a girl from the chorus. Think of the Platonic Ideal, and you will see that all bricks in alleys behind theatres are one, really."

Edrington snorted again. "Conniving wretch."

"On occasion." They had reached the door of their room. Archie looked up at him hopefully. "And, ah -- talking of theatregoing traditions?"

Alexander beat him to the lock by a bare second.

~~ Exeunt Omnes.

 


End file.
